


Seasons Change, the Song's the Same

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, feat. other delinquents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 07:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7836220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke gets really into plants and brings Bellamy along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seasons Change, the Song's the Same

**Author's Note:**

> A wild canonverse fic appears! This is for all the awesome writers out there.

**Summer**

The first thing they do after everything is over-- after they’ve saved their broken little corner of the world yet _again_ \-- is to finally get that drink.

Maybe it’s not the same drink Bellamy had invited her to have with him before she left camp. That would’ve been a drink that, on the surface, would have seemed to celebrate survival when underneath they would’ve been trying to forget. This drink is a loosening of her shoulder muscles, an unclenching of her jaw. It’s a sigh of relief.

The delinquents join them gradually.

Monty sits down first, Jasper slotting in next to him. They’re going back and forth about which superheroes from antiquity would have survived the nuclear apocalypse and these first months on the ground. It’s lighthearted banter and it’s a little more awkward than they used to be, but it’s a step in the right direction. A step towards each other.

Raven’s elbow bumps Bellamy’s each time she reaches for someone’s cup to steal a swig. It’s too much work to maneuver herself to get a refill, so she contents herself with ordering her friends around, modulating her voice less and less with each drink.

Miller has music playing through the rover’s speakers. He serenades anyone unfortunate enough to pass him too closely, latching onto their limbs and hamming it up until they can disentangle themselves. The drunker he is, the wider the danger radius.

Nobody mentions the space where Octavia might have sat.

As for Clarke, she finds herself content to sit between Bellamy and Harper, growing warmer as she basks in the glow of alcohol and friendship and the secure knowledge that the apocalypse is not immediately upon them.

By the time the sky is lightening again, they’re all huddled quietly around a dying fire. Shoulders brush, knees knock together, hands pet drooping heads. Small points of contact that remind them how far they’ve come.

“Can you believe it?” Miller asks, awe in his voice. “I still can’t really believe it.”

“Believe what?” Bellamy asks. Miller considers, his grave expression hilarious to Clarke. She muffles her snickers in Bellamy’s jacket.

“We did it.”

“What did we do?”

“What didn’t we do,” Raven snorts.

“No, I know what you mean,” Jasper says quietly. “We made it. We survived.”

Harper shushes him before he can get the sentence all the way out.

“Don’t say that! You’ll jinx us. Go over there, spin around three times, and spit over your left shoulder.”

“No way!”

“She’s right,” says Raven gravely. “It’s unjinxing protocol. We don’t make the rules.”

Clarke’s laughter is louder now, but she keeps her face pressed into Bellamy’s shoulder. Harper pokes Jasper in the side until he relents with an overdramatic eye roll, leaving the table to do as instructed. Raven starts in on Miller, who nods somberly and gets up without a fight.

It’s not like any of them really believe in jinxing, but they’ve proven they’ll do anything to keep each other alive. Even making fools of themselves.

“It’s kind of weird,” says Monty after a moment. “Being on the ground, I mean. Without imminent danger looming over us. It’s like– what do we do next?”

The group is silent for a moment, considering this question. Finally, Bellamy says, “Whatever the hell we want.”

Everyone laughs and Clarke bites back a smile. She’s not sure who she’s trying to hide it from. Her former self, maybe, who’d been annoyed and angry the first time she heard him say those words.

“I want plumbing,” Raven says immediately. “Showers. Toilets. Filtered water. Seriously. I’ve been thinking about it, and that’s the first thing I want us to tackle. I’m tired of doing my business in the woods. Everywhere is woods. I’m constantly afraid I’m going to step in someone’s–”

“I want to feel settled,” Miller interrupts, oblivious to the glare Raven sends his way before she snatches what’s left of his drink. “I want to be able to plan more than a few days into the future.”

“I just want pie,” says Jasper, a dreamy expression on his face. Everyone laughs again.

“I want to finish school.” Harper’s voice is low, almost shy. Like this is a private dream she’s probably been holding onto since the Skybox. Clarke knows the feeling. “I wonder how many of my teachers made it this far.”

“You tell us what you want to learn and we’ll find someone who knows about it,” Bellamy assures her.

“Yeah. You want to learn about engines? Or gravity? I’m your girl,” Raven says, holding up Miller’s empty cup for a toast. Harper clinks happily, chasing the last drops of her moonshine.

“What about you?” Bellamy asks, looking down at Clarke. Her head is resting on his shoulder, which she hadn’t really noticed. At least her eyes are still open, if only for now. He’s very comfortable.

“I don’t know what I want,” she admits. “I know I don’t want to work in medical.”

“Really?”

“Really really.”

“There’s plenty of room in agro,” Monty tells her. “Farmer Clarke. It has a nice ring to it.”

Clarke laughs, imagining herself in the country getups she remembers from pictures on the Ark.

“We’ll see.”

She can’t stop thinking about it, though.

They’d moved camp from the crash site of the main part of the Ark to some land further West. Out of the shadow of Mount Weather, away from Grounder tribes with whom they share too much history for either side to truly be able to trust the other. Because they’re starting from scratch, all labor has been reallocated: construction, farming, medical, and the guard are pretty much her only career options.

The first few weeks, she and Bellamy are part of the groups sent out to make nice with their new neighbors. Establishing friendly relationships with nearby Grounders is a priority for her mom and Kane, who choose to stay close to camp in order to oversee day-to-day operations. And that’s fine by Clarke. She doesn’t mind. They don’t know her as Wanheda here, don’t know what she’s done. She’s just a girl who knows how to speak for her people.

The night before she’s supposed to report to her first shift in medical, she can’t sleep. She’s been sleeping better since they made the move, since she and Bellamy started sharing a tent (platonically, to conserve resources). But there’s a knot of dread in the pit of her stomach that she just can’t shake, so she sits up and sighs. As usual, he’s awake and straining to read by moonlight.

“That’s so bad for your eyes,” she reprimands, climbing onto his bedroll next to him and curling up under his arm.

“I’m trying to cultivate more of a nerd persona. Bifocals ought to do the trick, don’t you think?”

“Congratulations, you’re already there. Bifocals or no bifocals.”

“Good to know my efforts haven’t been wasted,” he says, setting the book down and giving her his full attention. “Why are you up? Are you okay?”

She nods, the corners of her mouth quirking up as his thumb starts stroking circles on her shoulder.

“Just thinking.”

“Surprise, surprise. Is thinking a two person job now?”

Clarke doesn’t rise to the bait, instead opting for a sincere answer.

“I think better when you’re around.” And then, before he can respond to that, “I want to be reassigned to agro.” His hand pauses.

“Is this you trying to rebel against your mother?”

“No,” she laughs. “Good guess, though. She won’t be happy, but she’ll understand. I don’t think I can work in medical for a little while. It’s too-- I need a job where I’m not holding anyone’s lives in my hands.”

Bellamy is quiet but his arm is still heavy and comforting on her shoulders and his hand is tracing lazy paths on her bicep.

“Are you sure? I mean, you’ll get pretty dirty in agro. It’s not exactly a position fit for a princess.”

“Jerk,” she retorts with absolutely no heat. “I’m sure. I like the idea of helping things grow. Life instead of death, creation instead of destruction, blah blah blah.”

“You were being pretty poetic until the end there.”

“I have too much time to think.”

“I know what you mean.” She feels him adjust so his nose is buried in her hair, feels his chest expand as he inhales slowly. “We can definitely get you reassigned. Winter will be here before we know it and we need all the stored food we can get.”

“Cool, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She takes another moment to wonder how he’s holding up in the guard. She wonders if there’s anyone on the ground who knows heads or tails about psychology and would be willing to talk to-- well, everyone. There’s probably not a single person in Arkadia who doesn’t need to process grief and loss and life on the ground.

But she has Bellamy and he has her, and most days she thinks they’re getting better. Together. So she takes a deep breath and says brightly, “Rock, paper, scissors for who has to tell my mom and Kane?”

Bellamy snorts and she can feel his smile against the top of her head.

“Not a chance, Princess.”

  


**Fall**

Clarke grimaces as she inspects her hands. Where they were once soft, they’ve become rough. She’s proud of her calluses. Bellamy had warned her they’d get dirty, but her hands had never been much for cleanliness. In the Skybox they’d been stained with charcoal; on the ground, with blood. Looking down and seeing dirt feels like redemption.

“Ouch,” Bellamy says sympathetically, peering over her shoulder. “You need help taking care of those?”

“Which one of us is the medical professional?”

“Neither, anymore. But I have some ointment from the last time I went to the supply post that would make those blisters feel a lot better.”

“Lead the way.”

It’s not just her hands that have changed. Her skin has reddened in the sun, her arms sore but stronger than a few months prior, her mind at rest. At least, more than before. A lot of it has to do with the change in occupation, and a lot of it has to do with spending extended periods of time working side-by-side with Monty, but a lot of it has to do with Bellamy, too.

By the time it was their turn to get a cabin, it seemed like a waste of resources to build them each their own. Clarke doesn’t remember quite how it was before she fell asleep every night to the sound of Bellamy’s even breathing, doesn’t know what she would do if she couldn’t look over and see that she isn’t alone when nightmares wake her. She couldn’t imagine living with anyone who knew her less well. Even if she’d moved back in with her mother, she’d have to be ‘on’ in a way she never has to with him. When they’re alone together, laughing or talking or working independently, is when she feels most relaxed.

“Grab some bandages,” he says, heading straight to his side of the room and rummaging in his neat pile of belongings. Always the soldier.

Clarke stops in the doorway, distracted.

“Um. Bell?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you-- Did you do my _laundry_?”

He pauses and turns, his face set in a way that suggests he’s embarrassed and trying to play it cool. Clarke knows him too well for that to work.

“It was stinking up the place,” he says defensively. “I was doing my own anyway. I’d rather just add yours than live in filth.”

“They were not filthy.”

“Do you know how long I scrubbed to get the dirt and sweat stains out of them?”

Clarke eyes the clothesline they strung up at the far end of the room, assessing the carefully hung shirts and pants and…undergarments. Her face is _on fire_.

“Did you wash my bras and underwear, too?”

Bellamy smirks, clearly finding his footing when she’s just as embarrassed as he is.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, Princess. My mom was a tailor on the Ark, and I can’t tell you how many bras I helped her repair. But if I crossed a line--”

“Just--” She clears her throat, finding the bandages and sitting heavily on her own bed. “Nag me or something first. Next time. You shouldn’t have to--”

“Yeah.” He looks down. “Will do.”

“Good.”

There’s an awkward silence, unusual for them, and then he goes, “Oh, there it is,” and comes to sit next to her, a tin in his hands. Before she can take it for herself, he unscrews the lid and pulls one of her hands to rest on his knee, smoothing the ointment over the rough patches on her skin.

His touch is gentle and it makes her breath catch. She watches, mesmerized at the sight of his larger, darker hands tending to hers and the cool tingling of the medication. She tries not to imagine what his hands would feel like other places.

“How are you liking agro?” He asks, jolting her out of that train of thought.

“I like feeling useful,” she admits. “I like learning how to care well for things. I like feeling like I’ve tangibly accomplished something at the end of the day.”

“Then why did you ever get involved in politics?” He mumbles, and she laughs softly.

“It’s where I was needed. Had to keep somebody’s ego in check--”

“Oh, right. That asshole,” he snorts. “I almost forgot about him.”

She pauses, studying him as he slowly wraps her hand in a bandage.

“Do you ever miss it?” She asks.

“Miss what? Politics? I was never much good at it.”

“Yes, you were,” Clarke says automatically. He just starts in on her other hand, as matter-of-fact as he was about the first.

“I thought I had common sense, you know? The voice of the people. Thought I knew something the council running our society didn’t. Turns out it’s really easy to screw up.”

“Everybody screws up. You and I just did it in a spotlight.”

He’s quiet. Pensive.

“My whole life I always thought in terms of enemies. The guards who used the system to mess with my mom. The lawmakers who forced my sister to live in a floor for most of her life, then took her away, _then_ sent her to the ground like a lab rat. Like she was expendable. And then we were on the ground, and we had new enemies.” he squeezes her hands so he can finish wrapping. “And suddenly I was allies with this absolute _Princess_ \--”

“How awful for you. I feel really bad you had to put up with that.”

He shoots her a grin. Clarke’s stomach flips unhelpfully.

“Long answer short, yeah. I miss it sometimes. I miss working with you, and I miss-- When we moved the settlement and we were going around, making peace. It was the first time in my life I wasn’t devoting all my energy to worrying about enemies.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, so it’s still _most_ of my energy. Eighty percent, max. Which is awesome, for me. Being in the guard keeps it high, but it’s what I’m good at.”

“You’re good at a lot of things.” He starts to scoff and she shakes her head. “Stop. You are. You can sew, and improvise speeches, and you know how to deal with kids--”

“You are pretty terrible with kids,” he muses. She bumps his shoulder.

“You could be good at agro, or construction, or-- anything you wanted to do.”

A wry smile forms on his lips.

“Cute pep talk.”

“Laundry duty,” she suggests. “You can touch as many bras as you want.”

“Creepy.”

“I’m serious, Bell.” He looks up at her, shaggy hair hanging almost in his eyes, beautiful brown eyes less haunted than they used to be, no fresh wounds on his face (though she could see the scars if she looked close enough). He looks better every day, but she wonders how long it’ll be before he lets the world beat on him again.

He would die for his people, but she wishes he didn’t feel like he has to live for them.

“You need to prioritize yourself sometimes. You’re too important to us-- to me-- to keep doing something if it’s not good for you.”

His eyes bore into hers like he thinks he can read her mind if he just looks hard enough. She doesn’t waver and sees the exact moment when he relents.

“I’m okay,” he assures her. “I think I’d be in worse shape if I wasn’t on the guard. If I didn’t know I was doing everything I could to take care of my people. But I do miss working with you.”

She slots her fingers between his, grasping his hand firmly.

“I’m right here,” she promises. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  


**Winter**

“There you are!”

Bellamy’s voice, loud and chafing with anger, startles her. She’d been this close to drifting off to sleep when he’d so rudely barged in.

“You can’t just _not come home_ ,” he seethes, standing over her with his-- frankly, distracting-- arms crossed over his even more distracting chest. Clarke has been plagued with inappropriate thoughts about her partner lately, and at the least opportune moments. For instance, when she’s supposed to be paying attention to the scolding he’s giving her.

“I told Raven to let you know,” she says, yawning. “Did she not tell you?”

“All she said was that you’re sleeping in the greenhouse. I thought she meant a nap, not--”

“Oh. No. I’m staying the night.”

“Why?”

“Raven got the heat to work just in time for the cold front that’s supposed to come in tonight. The thing is, it took a lot more juice than she planned for, and she’s worried the power will blow.”

He deflates at this, dropping his arms and sitting beside her. She rolls onto her side so she can see him better, tucking her hands under her head. He’s very pretty from this angle. He’s very pretty from every angle, but this is a new one and she wants to take note.

She might be too close to sleep to be fully in her right mind.

“And you’re hoping your body heat will keep the plants alive if the power goes?”

“I’m very hot,” she says seriously. She watches him flounder for a moment before letting her smile overtake her face. “Just kidding. She arranged it so the residential areas won’t be affected by an outage, but that means if it goes out no one will know until the morning. And the temperature is supposed to drop a lot tonight. So I’m staying here to turn the backup generator on if the circuit blows.”

“Nobody else could do this?”

“I volunteered.”

“Of course you did, you lunatic.”  He shakes his head and stands.

“Night, Bellamy.”

“I’ll be right back,” he tells her. She means to stay up, wait for his return, but it _is_ really warm in the greenhouse, and she was already mostly asleep, so she’s not surprised when she feels herself waking up again a few minutes later.

Bellamy is trying not to wake her, quiet as he moves her jacket from where it’s draped over her and replaces it with a blanket. She’s drifting off again when he slides in behind her, curling around her so they’ll both fit in the narrow aisle.

In a dreamlike daze, she reaches back to pass him some blanket. He chuckles and accepts it, spreading it more evenly over both of them, and when he’s done she takes his hand so that his arm rests comfortably on her side. He’s rigid for a moment, obviously surprised, but gradually he relaxes into it. Clarke melts against him and the last thing she remembers clearly is thinking that she’d like to fall asleep this way more often.

Of course, it’s too much to ask that they be able to keep the privacy of this moment.

She wakes to find Raven standing over them and smirking. It’s a lot to take in, first thing.

The second thing is a lot too; at some point in the night Clarke became the big spoon. Her knees are tucked into the backs of his thighs, her arm like a vise around his torso, her face buried at the base of his neck. She can’t be certain whether it was Raven who woke her, or Bellamy’s hair tickling her nose.

“Up and at ‘em, lovebirds,” Raven says, overly loud.

Clarke feels Bellamy’s sharp intake of breath where her hand is resting on his chest as he awakens, and she casually removes her arm to roll away from him and stretch.

“The power stayed on,” she tells Raven, who still looks incredibly smug.

“I can see that. You should be glad it was me who came to check on the plants and not someone who will indefinitely make fun of you about it.”

“You would never,” Bellamy says, sitting up and rubbing his face. Clarke is struck with a sudden fondness and presses it back. She’s not sure if she’s ready to admit what it might mean. “So do we get to sleep in our own cabin tonight?”

“Sure,” Raven shrugs, turning and starting to limp away. She’s gotten so much stronger, her gait so much smoother these days. “I was never that worried about it in the first place.”

Bellamy narrows his eyes at Clarke and she blushes, standing and brushing the dirt off her pants.

“Okay, so she mentioned it might be a problem and I took it upon myself to make sure it wouldn’t be. But I’m very attached to these plants, Bellamy! We need them to make it through the winter. Not just for food, but for medicinal--”

Bellamy’s laugh cuts her off. He stands and kisses her on the forehead, his mood lighter than it usually is in the mornings. Or ever.

“Don’t worry about it, Clarke. It was the best night's sleep I’ve had in weeks.”

She lags a few steps behind him as she heads back to their cabin to change. If she’s honest with herself, she knows what that feeling in her chest is. There’s no doubt about it.

  


**Spring**

Ever since word got out about the greenhouse incident (thank you, Raven), Clarke has become the Crazy Plant Lady.

Harper brings her bouquets of herbs or wildflowers whenever she comes back from a scouting trip. Miller makes her a flower crown, and when Bellamy makes one too many cracks about how fitting it is for their princess, she insists Miller make him one too.

Monty and Jasper prank-plant tomato vines next to Clarke and Bellamy’s cabin one night. Clarke sheepishly apologizes to her roommate for dragging him into it. He grumbles like he’s really put-upon, but by the end of the day he’s built a trellis to support the vines, and Clarke has added rows of other vegetables.

She secretly loves it. There are worse things to be known for.

“The grounders have caught on,” Bellamy announces.

Clarke is busy sketching, and when she looks up she’s surprised to find him holding a potted fern with skepticism and mild disdain, which makes her grin as she reaches for it. The leaves are smooth and evenly spaced, curling beautifully over the edges of the basket. It’s beautiful.

“This is a gift from the River Clan delegation?”

“Yeah. They send their regards. I thought you were going to be part of the welcome party.”

“Got caught up,” she admits, looking around for a place to hang her fern. “Lost track of time. But I’ll be in the meetings tomorrow.”

“Good," he says, with a tiny smile that tugs at the strings of her heart. In her mind she can hear him saying,  _"I miss working with you,"_  and has to physically force herself to look away.

Part of the agreement with the River Clan is that they will meet monthly to address conflicts and trade resources. One month Clarke and Bellamy will lead a delegation to the grounders’ city, and the next, the grounders will come to them in Arkadia. Bellamy isn’t the only one who misses this; it _is_ nice to slip back into these roles from time to time, to know she’s helping her people in every way she can.

“Did you like the fern?” Sasha, one of the River Clan’s delegates, asks the next day when Clarke arrives. She’s beautiful, all curves and bold tattoos, and she gives Clarke special attention whenever they meet. It’s flattering, and another version of Clarke might have been interested. This version has laid her affections elsewhere.

“It’s lovely,” she responds, smiling. “We hung it near a window but I’m afraid it won’t get enough sunlight.”

“We?” Sasha looks between Clarke and Bellamy, who is standing only a few feet away and watching with a measured expression. “I did not realize you two were together.”

“We’re not,” Bellamy says quickly, his voice unreadable. Clarke kind of wants to throw something at him. Or make out with him. Those are usually the poles she wavers between.

“I appreciate the gesture,” Clarke tells Sasha, and the meeting starts before any other words can be exchanged.

She’s not sure if Sasha asks someone about her relationship status, or if the grounder takes Bellamy at his word that Clarke is open for wooing, but she starts sending plants and flowers until Clarke’s cabin is overflowing with them. A ficus that reminds Clarke of the one Vera Kane tended to on the Ark, lamb’s ear that’s soft under her fingers, colorful blooms that spill out of window boxes and herbs that fill the cabin with a fresh scent even when planted outside.

The longer it goes on, the more distant Bellamy grows. He scowls whenever he’s in Sasha’s vicinity and the silences between them in their cabin are deafening. Clarke is more annoyed than hurt, because-- well, if she’s reading him right, and she likes to think she is, then he’s being a dumbass and all hope is not lost for her.

It’s only a problem because she doesn’t get a chance to confront him about it. Planting season has come around, and she ends up collapsing into bed every night and passing out almost immediately. It doesn’t help that he’s actively avoiding her, signing up for night watch more often than not and staying out of their cabin as much as he can.

So she decides to take matters into her own hands.

“Enough is enough, asshole.”

Bellamy takes one look at her face and raises his eyebrows at Harper, who holds up her hands in an ‘I get it’ gesture and walks away.

“This is getting old. I’m tired of you ignoring me just because _you_ have a problem.”

“You through?”

She purses her lips and thrusts her solution at him. He blinks at it in surprise.

“What’s this?” He asks, his voice careful.

“It’s flowers.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” He takes the bouquet from her cautiously, making sure he doesn’t crumple any of them in the process. “Why--”

“You’re being an idiot,” she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest.

“These are ‘you’re being an idiot’ flowers?”

He sounds wholly unimpressed, and Clarke has that urge again to throw something at him.

“I was trying to figure out how to tell you the gifts from Sasha don’t mean anything to me, because it’s obviously bothering you enough you won’t come near me anymore.”

“You’re giving me flowers because they don’t mean anything to you.”

“No,” she huffs, dropping her arms and stepping closer. “I love them. They make me feel happy and proud and whole. But you seem convinced that who gives me flowers is this all-important thing, when the much _bigger_ thing is who I choose to give them to.”

He stares down at them uncomprehendingly.

“And you… You chose to give them to me.”

“You’re really not getting this, are you?” She mutters, plants her hands on either side of his face, and pulls him in for a kiss.

To his credit, he’s only startled for a moment, and then he’s kissing her back, firm and _sure_ and undemanding. The tightness in her chest loosens and she feels like she can breathe for the first time in days. She moves to press up against him but he stops her with a gentle hand on her waist.

“Hang on, you’ll crush my flowers.”

“I can give you more,” she laughs, but lets him maneuver so the flowers are out of harm’s way and before pulling her securely against his chest.

“You’d better,” he teases. “I expect to be wooed.”

She smells like earth and sweat and he’s been ignoring her for weeks, but nothing is ruining this moment for her. Their people are safe and happy and Bellamy has her in his arms. It feels like a new life, growing and blooming and thriving. She’s getting what she _wants._ It's equal parts monumental and completely natural, the inevitable, climactic outcome of the past year on the ground.

“Alright,” she says, hiding her grin in the juncture of his neck and shoulder. It gets impossibly wider when he nuzzles her temple, like he’s every bit as excited as she is. Like he didn’t expect to get this. He really is an idiot sometimes. “I think I can handle that.”


End file.
